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“Good luck with that.” Brooke leaned forward to trade her empty beer bottle for another piece of pizza. “Do you have any pets back in New York? You’ve never mentioned any.”
“Naw.” Dylan was already fixing himself another chicken wing.
She popped an errant mushroom in her mouth. “Why not? You’re such an animal lover, and you always had lots of pets growing up.”
He shrugged. “I travel too much. It wouldn’t be fair to them.”
“You could always get a pet sitter.”
He seemed to consider this. “Maybe one day, when things slow down a little.”
She helped herself to a second beer from the six-pack to wash down her pizza. “It’s going well, then? Seems like you’re in a lot of demand.” She was dying to know how much money he actually made, but didn’t want to ask.
“Yeah, can you believe it?” He took the beer bottle from her and twisted the cap off before handing it back. “Whenever I start to get too stressed I have to remind myself how lucky I am. Things are going better than I ever dreamed they would.”
She gave him a meaningful look as she sat back on the couch, juggling her beer and slice of pizza. “You’re awesome at everything you’ve ever done, so I’m not surprised one bit that you’re a raging success. It’s not luck, it’s brains and talent and hard work.”
He appeared unconvinced. “Maybe to some extent, but success in this business is mostly about luck. It’s all about having the right look at the right time and meeting the right people.”
She glared at him over her pizza. “And impressing those people you meet with your personality and professionalism, and working your ass off to maintain the peak of physical perfection, not to mention keeping the vultures at bay.”
“I guess, yeah.” It wasn’t exactly the resounding agreement she’d hoped her pep talk would inspire.
“Are you not happy?” she asked, cocking her head. “You don’t sound super happy for someone who’s doing so well.”
“I’m fine.” He’d been using the word fine a lot, and the more he said it, the less Brooke believed it.
She nudged him with her knee. “Tell the truth. Don’t give me any more of that ‘I’m fine’ crap.”
He sighed. “I think I’m just a little burned out. You know how it is when something you enjoy turns into your job and then it starts to feel like work and becomes this source of stress in your life?”
“I think so.” She’d never had a full-time job outside academia, but it sounded a little like the transition from undergrad to grad school, which was basically going from ‘I enjoy studying this subject and would like to spend more time doing it’ to ‘I now eat, sleep, live, and breathe this subject and the work never ends and oh my god what have I done to myself?’
“That’s why I wanted to take a few extra days and just hang out here. Get away from the whole scene and recharge. Try to get some perspective.”
She watched him thoughtfully as she chewed. “I can understand that.”
He gave a little head shake to signal the end of the conversation before changing the subject. “So tell me about this ‘sort of’ wedding reception thing we’re going to. Who’s the lucky couple?”
“Penny and Caleb,” Brooke said as she nibbled at her pizza. “She’s a chemical engineer who works as a patent examiner, and Caleb is finishing up his master’s in occupational therapy.”
Dylan grinned at her. “So they’re both super smart like you. Got it. How’d you meet them?”
“Penny’s friends with my college roommate Olivia.” Brooke leaned forward and set her empty plate on the coffee table. “She’s Penny’s maid of honor, so she was at the wedding in Virginia this weekend. She said it was beautiful.”
“Is this shindig like a cocktail party or a full-on wedding reception with dinner and music and dancing?” he asked.
“There will be assorted hors d’oeuvres and drinks in addition to a wedding cake.” Brooke raised her beer bottle and took a swig. “There will also be a band, apparently, that a friend of Penny’s is in, so I assume there will be at least some dancing.”
Dylan nodded, smiling as his eyes caught hers. “Cool. I love dancing.”
“I remember.”
And suddenly Brooke was thinking back to prom night, which was the last time she’d danced with Dylan. How he’d danced every slow dance with her, and how safe and happy she’d felt wrapped up in his arms. The feel of his hands on her waist, the smell of his cologne, the warmth of his body against hers.
And then after, in the limo, when he’d kissed her. How sweet he’d tasted, and how soft and tender his lips had felt.
How would he taste now?
